A Prayer for Thanksgiving

This is a prayer for indigenous people, who bear the scars of intergenerational trauma for being displaced, dishonored, dislocated 

This is a prayer for all those who produce our food: farmers and field hands, factory workers and truckers, shelve stockers and checkout clerks

This is a prayer for people sitting at full family tables, yet unseen and alienated 

This is a prayer for people sitting alone, wondering if anyone, anywhere cares

This is a prayer for homes filled with conflict and violence

This is a prayer for homes where love and laughter flow freely

This is a prayer for children separated from their parents

This is a prayer for the mothers who worry about the safety of their children whenever they leave the house

This is a prayer for those experiencing the joy of unexpected reunions and reconciliation

This is a prayer for those whose cupboards are bare

This is a prayer for those whose tables groan with the weight of many dishes

This is a prayer for those who sleep in alleys on cardboard 

This is a prayer for those who care for those who sleep in alleys on cardboard 

This is a prayer for those who ask “Why?”

This is a prayer for those who see a world of plenty and seek to share 

This is a prayer for the justice-seekers

This is a prayer of thanksgiving

Inescapable Network of Mutuality

Early this morning, Robin and I went to Epworth UMC in Denver. When we got there, hundreds of volunteers were busy getting ready for the annual Feed a Family event. Boxes were assembled and then filled with turkeys, cranberries, green beans, sacks of flour, and boxes of mac and cheese, cake mix, cornbread and stuffing mix, and more! Over 600 volunteers made more than 5500 boxes. While most people came to pick up their boxes, more than 1000 needed to be delivered to homebound seniors and others. Robin and I were given a list of people needing boxes so we filled up our car and headed out.

It was moving to knock on a door and be greeted by the people on the other side. One person was a vet with PTSD, who rarely left their house. Another was an elderly woman who lives alone. Another was an immigrant who didn’t speak much English. Another was on oxygen, rarely venturing farther than the length of the cord between her and the oxygen tank would allow.

As we drove home, I thought of the labor of many hands that would now warm the homes of those who received the boxes: farmer and field hands, factory workers and truckdrivers, pastors and laity, financial donors and volunteers all helped create that boxful of food. All were needed to participate in order for those in need to have a tableful of food.  

Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “All persons are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly. I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be, and you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be. This is the inter-related structure of reality.”

Miracles happen when we choose to walk in the world in ways that are mindful of our interconnectedness. As you prepare your table for Thanksgiving, take a moment to give thanks for those whose names you may never know who are making your meal possible. And may you do all you can to offer greater compassion, healing, and justice to a world in need.

Museums or Mission Outposts?

Many of us from the MSC have been in LA for the Western Jurisdiction Fresh United Methodist Church Summit. We have been discerning what our church needs to look like in order to strengthen our witness and ministries as we seek to share the love of God with others in our unique settings in the West. 

One young person at my work table talked about time capsules. I confess I found my mind wandering once she said that! Every since I was a child, time capsules have fascinated me. Perhaps it was because I saw the Westinghouse Time Capsule at the 1964-1965 World’s Fair in New York. I was in awe that things that were staples of the day were going to be buried for thousands of years, waiting to be opened and scrutinized by those in the future.

Sometimes, churches are like time capsules.

One of my favorite churches that I regularly stopped in to pray midweek was on a dirt road, tucked away in a valley, far from a tiny village.  I never saw another person at this church. It had an outhouse in the back and no running water. Antique glass fire extinguisher grenades (look it up!) hung in obvious places around the tiny sanctuary. The hymnbooks were from a much earlier era of Methodism. It felt like a walk-in time capsule, a church that was still in the 1930’s. 

If a newcomer walked into your church today, would they think they’d walked into a time capsule? What year/era does your church communicate? Or would they walk into a building that reflects the current age, that communicates “the old, old story of Jesus and His love” in fresh, contemporary ways?

This is our task: to keep vigilant lest we turn our churches into museums rather than mission outposts, dated and out of touch relics to an earlier age rather than ministry centers deeply connected to the current realities facing people in their everyday lives. In this way we ensure that we are putting “new wine into fresh wineskins." (Mark 2:22). 

This is our task, my friends!

Remembering The Saints

This weekend, the members of the Clergy Academy and I returned from Cuernavaca. It has been a powerful two weeks as we wrestled with a new language and learned from a new culture. I especially found the past two days particularly impactful as we participated in the Day of the Dead (Dia de Los Muertos) celebrations with our new friends.


Altars were created in our homes, around the community, as well as at the school, a tribute to loved ones who had passed. Favorite foods and other memorabilia were placed on the altar next to a loved one’s picture as a way to help them on their spiritual journey. As we shared stories of our deceased loved ones, more than a few tears were shed.


Many of us saw death this year. Many of us had our lives profoundly impacted by the loss of a loved one. Grief clings to us as bitter soot on our souls, because life has been taken from us, wrenched from our grasp. The empty place beside us in bed, or at the dinner table, or in the office, or next door, or at the family gathering, is an ever present reminder that cannot be denied: death has paid a visit and left with one we love. 


Even though death has taken some dear ones from us, my faith that tells me that they are in fact here, still amongst us. My faith helps me continue to experience the love we shared that not even death can take away. Faith teaches me that the dead are never very far from the living. I am grateful that you, me, all of us are surrounded by the “communion of saints.”


This weekend is a time when many cultures and religious traditions believe that the veil between the living and the dead is thinnest. It is a time to honor those who have passed, those saints of our lives who now rest in the arms of God.


Who are the saints in your life, those who from their labors rest, who today are sitting now at God’s side, watching over and caring for you, continuing to surround you in love that not even death can destroy?


Whose voice do you still hear? Who do you remember? Who showed you a bit of what God is like? Who loved you? Whose love was so big that not even death can put an end to it?


This weekend, we remember the saints. We draw the circle wide to include them in our Celebrations. We draw wisdom from the way they embodied faith. We draw strength from the way they lived their lives. We give thanks to God for their witness that transcends death.


Thomas Lynch, an undertaker-turned-poet, reminds us to be gentle with ourselves and our grief. It is hard work. His advice is this: 


“There's no easy way to do this. So do it right: weep, laugh, watch, pray, love, live, give thanks and praise; comfort, mend, honor, and remember.”


In these days of remembering the saints, may we turn to one another in our grief. Offer comfort. Offer affirmation. Offer life. Offer love as we live into and move through our grief, as we surround ourselves with saints.

Generosity and Hospitality

I have been thinking a lot about generosity and hospitality lately. While members of the Clergy Academy and I were in Cuernavaca for our cultural immersion, we were offered incredible hospitality by our hosts at CILAC FREIRE. From the very moment they picked us up until they set us off for our return flights, they did everything they could to make sure we were cared for in mind, body and spirit.

Towards the end of our time there, Denise Bender, Robin and I met with the leaders of the school to review how the immersion went, what worked, and what could be changed, and to begin to make plans for next year. One thing they wanted to know was if our accommodations were okay. This was our third year staying in the apartments. We really like them! They asked if we were having any problems with the water—in the past, hot water had sometimes been in short supply! We mentioned that the hot water was better, but still a little irregular, but no big deal.

As we finished our review of the week and began a more informal visit, we learned more of each other’s lives away from the school. In the course of the conversation, both hosts shared that they don’t have hot water in their homes. And then it hit me:

They gave us more than they have themselves!

That was such a humbling realization. And then, as we listened to the places where others in our group were staying, it became plainly evident that all of us were the recipients of incredible generosity. The school family (because they are not employees but a community that is family for one another) goes the extra mile in caring for school participants. All of them share a deep faith. Those involved in Christian Base Communities live an Acts 2 faith: They share everything in common. By sharing with one another, needs were cared for.

I saw the essence of the Christian faith lived out vibrantly by our Mexican friends. It has challenged me to consider my own actions (and inactions!). Am I willing to give more than I have myself? Does the way I live enhance the lives of others? Do I share as much as I can so that those who have little can have more?

Imagine what would happen in our congregations if we offered everyone who walked through our doors a generous hospitality? What would happen if we pooled our resources, sharing not only our financial resources, but our own goods and equipment? How does that kind of abundant thinking create a community full of vitality, vision, and joy? People beyond the walls of our church would see a community of deep care and love, and be drawn to the possibilities of promise such a community holds.

Jesus told those who follow him:

“Sell your possessions, and give to the needy. Provide yourselves with moneybags that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail, where no thief approaches and no moth destroys. ³⁴ For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” Luke 12:33-34

May we offer to others the best of what we have, making the love we hold in our hearts tangible to those around us.